


Ten Simple Tricks

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Season/Series 05, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-28
Updated: 2007-05-28
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: The "Hottest Guy at Babylon" contest goes differently. Brandon names Justin as one of the tricks.





	Ten Simple Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

\---

"Okay," Brandon says, twirling the pen around in his hands. "You've named your top five. Now here's mine." His eyes flash suggestively as he rattles off a list of four names, and then a slow, evil smile spreads across his face. "And Justin Taylor," he says simply. 

Brian's eyes widen. "No." 

"No?" Brandon echoes. "You can't say _no_. I let you put _those_ fuckers on the list," he says, indicating the five topmost names. "So I can pick who I want." 

Brian isn't stupid. He knows Brandon knows _exactly_ who Justin is. And he isn't going to just take him off the list. So with an exaggerated sigh, Brian leans closer and murmurs, "He's going to want a relationship. Been stalking me for years, ever since I popped his cherry. Thinks I'm his boyfriend."

It kills him to say that. It really does. 

"Then it shouldn't be a problem for you," Brandon remarks smoothly. "A stalker should be easy to get into bed." With that, he downs the last of his beer and hands Brian a folded-up copy of the list. "Good luck, and may the best fuck win." 

And the asshole gets off the chair, flashes Brian a not-so-charming smile, and makes his way out of the bar. 

"Am I on the list?" asks a nosy bartender, trying to get a look at the paper before Brian shoves it into his pocket. 

Ignoring him, Brian heaves a sigh. "Another," he demands, indicating the shot glass in front of him. 

The bartender complies. 

\---

The first six are easy. Sluts, all of them – Brian personally chose five of them for the list knowing that they've wanted in his pants ever since they first walked into Babylon. And the plus side is that they don't want the other fucker, Brandon – they're content with their current king, thank you very much. 

The sixth one was Brandon's pick, but just like everyone else, no fucking way would he pass up an opportunity for sex with a legend. 

Numbers seven, eight, and nine aren't looking too difficult. One of them has a _shrine_ to Brian in his apartment, for fuck's sake, and one of the others stalked Brian back in his twinkie days.

With that thought, Brian shudders. Using expressions like that makes him think that maybe Brandon's right – maybe it _is_ time to descend from the club boy throne. 

Then the little fucker walks into Woody's and makes a beeline for Brian, so fuck that. 

They have a little chat about how they both have six, and then the asshole has the nerve to suggest that they're equal. "Even," Brian is quick to correct him, "but never equal." 

Well said, Kinney, he applauds himself. 

"Got Taylor yet?" Brian asks him conversationally, drumming his fingers on the bar. He leans over to inspect Brandon's list and – sure enough – Justin's name is not yet crossed out. Brian breathes a sigh of relief. 

And Brandon notices. 

"What? Don't want your little _stalker_ getting fucked by other people?" sneers the asshole. 

Brian maintains a mask of indifference – one he has perfected through years of pretending to be a heartless motherfucker, of course. "He's sixteen, you know," he remarks. It's a lie, but it's a damn good one. 

Brandon delicately shrugs a shoulder. "He's been fucked before," he says. 

And in his mind, Brian lets slip a mildly impressed _touché_. 

\---

Seven and eight – done. This leaves the fucker with the shrine… and Justin. 

Actually, that would make him the _fuckee_ with the shrine. 

The only comfort is in knowing that Brandon hasn't gotten Justin yet. Brian knows that Brandon is saving him for last, or when Brian seems most of a challenge to him, because the way Brandon sees it, Brian's going to be crushed once he finds out that Brandon got Justin. He's wrong, of course. Right? 

Well, Brandon's on his number eight, and Brian's all set to move on to number nine when he discovers that Brandon paid said trick a substantial amount of money to go to Mexico for a few days.

Getting on the plane and fucking the guy in the bathroom is easy. 

It's getting off the plane and knowing who's left that presents a problem. 

\---

Presenting the plane ticket to Brandon, Brian can't deny the little rush of self-satisfaction he feels. Well, it's only to be expected. He _did_ just make it absolutely impossible for Brandon to win. At least, it seems that way. 

"Now," Brian remarks, twirling the straw in his Cosmo around, "since I've already fucked Taylor, one might go so far as to say I've won. Correct?" 

Brandon raises an eyebrow. "Did you fuck him once the bet started?" he asks mildly. 

"No," Brian replies, cursing his poor timing. 

"Then I think you have your answer," says Brandon, and he folds up his list and puts it in his pocket. Before he turns to exit, he spins around and smirks at Brian. "And by the way," he says smoothly, "I have nine, too." 

\---

When Brian pulls his car into Michael and Ben's parking lot, the kid is there, right on the porch. "Hey," Brian calls, pleased to have saved himself the embarrassment of having to go inside and _ask_ to speak to the twink. 

"Hey," Justin echoes, clearly perplexed. "You want me to go get Michael?" 

Brian gets out of the car and closes the door, seating himself comfortably on the hood. "No, actually," he replies. Before Justin can ask if he's here to see Ben, Brian decides to cut right to the chase. "I'm here to see you," he says. 

There's no denying the look of gobsmacked shock on Justin's face. "Me?" he asks, clearly bewildered. 

"Yeah. Come here," Brian says, and as always, Justin obeys. He lets his backpack fall to the ground on the porch, then obediently walks over to Brian's car. 

"Yes?" he asks nervously, twisting his fingers around each other. 

Brian lays a hand on the boy's shoulder to calm him down. "Relax," he commands, and Justin does. "I was just wondering… do you want to come out for a drink or two? Maybe… make a pit stop back at the loft?"

It's not in his nature to lie, not even by omission. But he knows that Mister I-Want-A-Solid-Relationship would probably frown upon hearing about the Top Ten Tricks contest. And he is _not_ going to let that asshole Brandon back into Babylon. No fucking way. 

Except… if Justin would turn down a fuck with Brian, then doubtlessly, he would say no to Brandon as well. 

Unless he _heard_ about the contest and wanted to get back at Brian. 

Fuck. 

"So I'm on your list, huh?" Justin murmurs dryly. 

Double fuck. 

Brian groans. "Yes." After a moment of brief silence, he sighs. "I guess you're going to lecture me on how it's childish and I shouldn't play silly juvenile games like this?" 

"Fuck no!" Justin exclaims. 

Wait. _What_? 

"I think it's good that you're getting in touch with your inner adolescent," the blonde continues. "But," he says, "if you want to fuck me, you're going to need to do a few things." 

Brian can't bite back the crude sexual humor that's become second nature to him. "Already done nine of 'em," he mutters. 

"Saving the best for last," Justin remarks. "Well. You're going to have to do something else. I'll make it easy, and I'll even promise I won't fuck Brandon in the time it takes you to complete your task." 

Resignedly, Brian sighs. "Well, what is it? What do you want?" 

A smirk spreads across Justin's face. "I want you to tell me what you feel for me. Honestly." His blue eyes twinkle. "I'll know if you're lying." 

He settles down comfortably on the grass in front of Brian's car, smugly folds his legs in a pretzel, and stretches his arms out behind him so that his palms dig into the grass. "Go ahead."

\---

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. How the fuck am I supposed to do this?_

_I know what he wants me to say. It's what they all want me to say. Those three words, like they make some kind of difference. If I say it to someone and I don't mean it, does it change things? Does it make me feel any differently about them?_

_No._

_But then… if it doesn't change things, why can't I say it? If the words don't mean anything, why can't I say them and get it over with?_

_Because words mean something to me. Because I don't lie. I mean, I do. I deny emotion constantly. But that's one thing. Admitting I have a certain emotion – well, that's another thing entirely. What if I don't mean it? What if I change my mind? Can I do that?_

_Fuck._

_But what is love, anyway? Someone told me it's when someone makes you a better person, but that's bullshit, because I know Mikey loves me, but I make him dependent and weak, even though I love him back._

_Fuck this._

_I  know I love the little asshole._

_And now I have to say it?_

_Yeah. Now I have to say it._

\---

Brian hears footsteps crunching in the leaves behind him, but he ignores them. Ignores everything. He steps forward, away from his car, and leans against a tree. Takes a deep breath. 

 

"Do I have to make this a fucking speech?" he demands, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. 

 

Justin looks concerned. When he named his price, he hadn't intended to hurt Brian, and this looks like it is killing him. "Look, Brian," he says quickly, "you don't have to – "

"I do, actually," Brian assures him. 

When has he ever backed down from a challenge?

"I, uh…" Fuck. Now he's stuttering? Brian has never been known to stutter. Never. "I didn't want you to leave. At first I did, you know, years ago, and I pushed you until you did, but it wasn't the same. This time, I wanted you with me. Still want you with me. And now that you're gone, I'm acting like a child to make up for the fact that I no longer have the other half of me in my life – the better half."

Brian calls to mind his conversation with Ted, when the nosy accountant "threatened" him with sushi and mango and forced Brian to disclose his family history and current feelings. This feels like that, in a way, but it also feels more… honest. Maybe because this is _Justin_ , and Ted is… not. 

"Can I stop now?" Brian asks abruptly, imagining Ted in Justin's place and suddenly unable to continue. 

Justin nods. "Yeah." He turns to face the house. "Well, I'll go now – " 

"Wait," Brian interrupts. "What about the… uh… you know, the list?" 

There is surprise in the younger man's eyes. "We've fucked before," he says slowly. "Why can't you just count that?" 

"Because I can't," Brian replies. "It's cheating." 

And _this_ is cheating, too, in a way – he _really_ wants Justin right now, and he knows he _could_ just say he fucked the kid and Brandon would probably believe him, and besides, it's not like Justin is fucking Brandon anytime soon. But he's not going to. 

Justin exhales. "Pick me up at eight," he says. "No – make that nine." 

"And shall I take Prince Charming to a romantic dinner before we consummate our relationship?" Brian sneers.

The younger man raises his eyebrows. "I thought Brian Kinney didn't do that sort of thing," he murmurs. 

Brian steps away. "I'll make an exception," he says, and gets back in the car before he turns the kid over and fucks him on Michael's fucking lawn.

\---

Brian honks, and the blonde comes running out. Michael is on the porch, watching, and shoots Brian a disapproving look as Justin opens the passenger door and slips inside. "Bye, Mikey," Brian calls, speeding away just in time to see the expressions of horror on Eli and Monty's faces as they peer at him through their window. 

"That fucking neighborhood," Brian grumbles. "How can you stand it?" 

Justin shakes his head. "It really is terrible," he admits. "They all think they're straight little housewives. I need my own place." 

Brian doesn't say what's on the tip of my tongue: _or you need to come back to mine_. 

"So, Sunshine," Brian says, not having a clue what he is going to say next, and then – "oh." He pauses. "So, Justin," he says, and it is as though he never used the affectionate pet name. "Would you like it in the loft, or in the backroom of Babylon for all to see?" 

"They'll think we're back together," Justin mutters. 

Brian smirks. "All the better to fuck you with, my dear." But he lets it drop, and turns in the direction of the loft. 

Justin can't say he minds the slightly predatorial look in Brian's eyes. 

\---

"On the bed," Brian directs. 

Like that wasn't obvious. 

Justin strips off his pants, then his underwear, and is sitting there in just a worn white tee-shirt when Brian arrives in the bedroom. The older man leans closer, touches the hem of Justin's shirt, and pulls it over the blonde's head. 

"My turn," Justin breathes. Suddenly they're not in the present anymore. Suddenly they're a month ago, two years ago, whatever – in a position where they can make love, not just fuck. And his hands are on the button of Brian's jeans, unsnapping it – has there ever been a button unsnapped with the same sexual element as it is now? 

He slides the pants down Brian's legs, collecting the material in his fist and pulling them off altogether. Then he removes Brian's shirt, and then his socks, and can't help but notice that Brian isn't wearing underwear. 

Someone knew he was getting lucky tonight. 

It doesn't bother Justin one fucking bit.

\---

"Got Taylor" are the first words out of Brian's mouth when he spots Brandon in Babylon. He is sitting at the bar, and Justin is on the barstool beside his. The younger man's blue eyes are sparkling as he meets the eyes of this asshole who dared to question Brian's reign over Liberty Avenue. 

Brandon scowls. "I suppose you'll be wanting to collect your prize?" he asks bluntly. 

"What's the prize?" Justin whispers in Brian's ear. 

Brian tells him. Justin giggles. 

"Yes," Brian tells the fucker smugly. The fuck _ee_. "In the backroom." 

Before the asshole can dare to question it, Brian smirks. "That way, everyone can see Super Top taking it up the ass instead of giving it. And Justin, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to join us as well." 

Calling the shots as always, perfect as always, Brian rises from his stool and turns toward the back of the club. "Shall we?" 

Brandon and Justin follow. 

For once, Justin doesn't mind.


End file.
